It was December 9th, 2025
Today is the day we board our ship and set off for Antarctica!
Our bags are due to be dropped seaside between 10:00 a.m. and noon. After that, we aren’t expected back at the port until 4:00 p.m. to board, which gives us a nice chunk of time to eat, grab any souvenirs or last-minute items we might want on the boat, and just mosey around. But is it really a Krajicek trip without at least one minor hiccup and panic?! HA!
That morning, I woke up early—before the hotel had even set out coffee. Jake was still snoozing, so I curled up in the comfy chair in our room with a blanket and my phone. I decided to go back through the emails we’d been sent and study up on some penguin facts I could rattle off to Jake later in the trip.
While scanning through dozens of Antarctica updates and informational emails, I saw it.
An email I had never read.
It was reminding anyone interested in ice climbing or technical mountaineering to review the manuals for those activities and—this is where I panic—ensure they brought the correct equipment: a pair of specialized boots.
OMG.
This is why we booked this trip. This boat. These dates. This itinerary. This crew. Thousands of dollars spent for this exact adventure.
As soon as I saw the boot examples, the memory came rushing back. Jake and I were sitting at the kitchen island on a Zoom call with our booking agent. We talked through all the requirements—the necessary fitness levels, the equipment, everything. When she brought up the boots, we happily agreed it was no problem. We’d just purchase our own pair of these very specific boots before the trip.
But that was eighteen months ago.
And life has been chaos this last year.
And every other manual and email we received specifically stated that our boat provided boots.
And… we forgot.
So the moment Jake’s eyes were barely cracking open, he was greeted by me.
Panicking.
As early as we could, we gathered our things, hoisted our bags onto our backs, and headed down the hill to the port for drop-off. As soon as we unloaded, we made a mad dash to the storefronts.
One by one—closed.
Argentina, it turns out, does not run on the same business-hour schedule as the U.S. It’s 11:30, the sign says the store opens at 11:00, so is it open? Yeah right. LOL.
We grabbed a quick snack while we waited, and eventually the rental shops started opening. Hope! That hope faded quickly when we realized the shops were geared far more toward ski rentals than technical mountaineering. One by one, they sent us farther down the road.
“Maybe such-and-such store has them.”
“No, but maybe try that place over there.”
When one shop finally mentioned a specific store by name—and that store told us they didn’t have the boots, but their retail storefront about three blocks away might have a small selection—we were off again.
Our first real glimmer of hope.
We arrived… and of course, it wasn’t open.
Just as we turned to walk away, a guy pulled up and parked right in front of the shop. He stepped out of his car with a key in his hand.
We froze.
And then—there it was.
Right there on the back wall: a stack of about six pairs of Class B & C boots.
And out of those six?
They had BOTH of our sizes.
I’m not saying angels sang… but it felt close.
And THAT is the story of how Jake and I purchased the most expensive pairs of shoes we have ever owned.
Also—do not recommend Googling the price of something you’re forced to buy in a we-know-we’re-your-only-choiceboutique versus ordering it online from home.
Ignorance, in this case, truly would have been bliss.
Krajicek’s Take The World 
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